


by her side

by Kylaroid



Series: 502 bad gateway [6]
Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: And a pinch of angst, F/F, Fluff, Post-Canon, darlene is soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:41:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22205818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kylaroid/pseuds/Kylaroid
Summary: "She wants nothing more than to take Dom’s pain away—to protect her from anything that would dare to hurt her—but the damage has already been done. She can’t take away what happened. But she can stay here, by her side, until the panic settles."
Relationships: Darlene Alderson/Dominique DiPierro
Series: 502 bad gateway [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759651
Comments: 5
Kudos: 58





	by her side

Dom is back in her childhood bedroom—back in her mother’s house. She’s perched in the windowsill that overlooks the front yard, her eyes heavy and threatening to close against her will. Between blinks, she catches a figure enter the house, followed by another. Black outfits and garish devil masks that flood her system with adrenaline and make her heart throb against her ribcage. Blood rushes in and pounds against her ears, deafening almost everything around her. Dom grabs the gun hiding under the cushion of her chair—hands trembling so terribly that she fumbles and nearly drops her pistol.

She bolts down the stairs and nearly slips on one of the steps. Curses her slippers that grant no traction. She grips the handrail so hard that her knuckles go white and turns sharply at the landing – dashing towards the living room where her mother was reading. Her palms fly to the grip of her handgun—the tip of her thumb brushes against the safety and it clicks off. Two fingers wrap around the trigger—hovering and poised to pull with marksman aim if need be. The front door is blown wide open—pulling a chilly breeze with it—but she can’t see any intruders. Dom realizes that she can’t hear anything either—it is hauntingly silent. Her mother’s slightly off-key singing, the sound of the evening news program, even the usual creak of the floorboards under her weight is gone. Nothing. Her arms are outstretched—tense—and ready to fly up at any sign of danger.

As she starts to approach the living room, a faint noise starts echoing through the halls. Reverberates through the floorboards and crawls up the walls. Dom can’t quite make it out—can’t decipher what it is. Thick and wet and messy—like someone clearing a thicket or pouring fresh cement. Anxiety pricks at the tips of Dom’s fingers and a frigid wave flushes through her system as she turns the corner.

“Ma!” Dom yells out, her arms rising up to meet their target—in the center of the room is a tall man in a white tank top. His quivering pulsing biceps hoist an axe into the air before swinging it down with ferocious vigor. The blade settles into a mess of viscera and flesh and bones and _oh god_.

The living room has always been so warm—the hearth lit and cheerful conversations and her mother’s cooking. The bright red of gore accents that heat in a sickening way. The blood splattering every inch makes it look like some kind of twisted Jackson Pollock. Despite the vibrant warmth of the room, Dom has never felt colder in her life. The gun rattles wildly in her hands—clattering loudly. She freezes for a moment. The world spirals around her, waning in and out of focus as her knees threaten to buckle underneath her. Cold steel snaps through another set of bones and pulls Dom back to full alertness. Her fingers squeeze the trigger—once, then twice. The gun won’t fire. She keeps pulling, wishing and praying against all odds that the gun will fire. But it doesn’t.

Irving wipes his blood-covered face with his forearm and turns to face Dom—the axe resting in the curve of his palm. ‘ _Move!_ ’ Panic sets in. She needs to run or attack or do something, god do something—do anything! But her joints feel like they’ve been rusted over and no matter how much she pleads with herself, they won’t budge. Irving approaches—lifts the axe into both hands and drums his fingers along the handle. It raises—higher and higher and then careens down into her flesh like a pendulum.

Dom wakes in a startle—flesh cold and clammy and so drenched with sweat that the sheets have been left damp. She bolts out of Darlene’s arms and tumbles gracelessly onto the floor. The commotion wakes up Darlene who sits up—frazzled and blinking into the darkness. “Dom? You okay?” She can barely make out Dom’s silhouette as her eyes adjust. Darlene scoots to the edge of the bed and kneels down beside her. She can hear her hyperventilating—she sounds like she’s choking on her own breath. “Dom.” Darlene calls again with a bit more urgency. She places her hands on Dom’s cheeks and draws her head up so their eyes meet. Wetness greets her palms as they brush against the ginger’s cheeks and Darlene can hear Dom’s ragged sobs more clearly now. Her pupils are blown—black nearly eclipsing the grey in her eyes. A strangled cry inks out of her throat—an attempt at verbalizing that dissolves into an unintelligible mess in the air. Darlene recognizes this unwelcome visitor easily—dreadfully familiar—a panic attack.

“Oh shit, okay…” She breathes, running a hand through her messy locks. The brunette scrambles over to Dom’s dresser and feels around until her fingers catch on the agent’s cellphone. Light illuminates the room and forces Darlene to squint her eyes shut at the sudden brightness. After a few blinks, she swipes the familiar security pattern on the screen and starts digging through Dom’s music library. Selects one of the first songs that she sees, raises the volume, and places it on the floor beside the trembling woman.

_“When the darkness draws near  
And I'm shackled, chained to my fear  
And the nightmares howl and moan”_

The small brunette takes a seat right in front of Dom. Presses her back up against the side of the mattress and folds her legs. Dom is shuddering—gasping and sobbing and hacking with each breath. Sorrow and terror is flooded over her features—brows furrowed together and lips peeled back into a quivering open-mouthed frown. A painfully nostalgic expression, one that Darlene never wanted to see again. Memories flicker in the back of her mind—back to the time Dom had thrust a gun into her hands and sobbed and pleaded for her to end her life. That wistful expression that always causes Darlene’s chest to twist and throb with anguish. She wants nothing more than to take Dom’s pain away—to protect her from anything that would dare to hurt her—but the damage has already been done. She can’t take away what happened. But she can stay here, by her side, until the panic settles.

Dom had done this for her before—many times now. The first time, she had called the agent in a panic—begged her to come and save her from Dark Army soldiers. On another occasion, Darlene returned to the safehouse and crumbled to the floor—crying and screaming incoherently. Dom must’ve seen on the monitor and sat with her until it passed. On some occasions, she still has her panic attacks—sometimes unprompted, sometimes stirring from nightmares and traumatic memories. Cisco, Dark Army soldiers, a knife being plunged into Dom’s chest. She’s gotten better at handling them when they come, but Dom is always there when she needs it. Warm protective hands that hold her and soft words that soothe her soul until the panic subsides. Now it was her turn.

“I’m here, Dom, it’s going to be okay…” Darlene whispers warmly—does her best to keep her tone steady and prevent the nerves and sadness from leaking into her voice. She reaches out—slowly, carefully—and brushes her palms against the back of Dom’s hands. Featherlike and easy. Cups her hands and squeezes them. Cold fingers shake uncontrollably in her grasp. “It’s okay, Dom, it’s okay—you’re safe, you’re here.” She repeats the words like a mantra—caressing Dom’s skin with her thumb. Her chest heaves harshly against quick heavy breaths—raspy coughs and wheezes flooding out of her irritated weary lungs. Darlene’s expression twists sorrowfully with firsthand knowledge of how painful and terrifying these attacks are. “It’ll pass babe… I promise…” She hums soothingly. Darlene keeps quiet for a moment—the room filled with the sounds of the cityscape—distant in the background—Dom’s uneven breath and the gentle vocals of Mary Gauthier. 

“Do you want anything?” Darlene asks, lowering her head in an attempt to catch Dom’s eyes. Nothing, for a minute, and then the smallest head shake no. They’ve always been good at silent communication. Darlene’s wide-eyed gaze and subtle head shake from the backseat of Santiago’s car. Dom’s warning that she was going to pull the skinning blade from her chest and Darlene’s panicked eyes pleading with her not to do it. Words were never needed with them. They could read each other with masterful insight.

“Water?” Another head shake—faster this time. Dom starts to stir. Reaches out aimlessly and starts to stumble onto her feet—her muscles still quivering irrepressibly. “Hold on—” Darlene calls out, grabbing onto the woman’s waist and placing a hand under her bicep to steady her. The agent sniffles and swallows—squirming uselessly in Darlene’s grasp. “I’m fine—” She utters hoarsely, her voice nasally from an overload of mucus clogging her nose. She makes a move towards the kitchen, but is stopped by Darlene. “Dom…” She drawls, hands pressed against the older woman’s abdomen. Dom is too exhausted to push back—her body weak and trembling from the sudden rush of hormones. “Just—had a bad dream, that’s all…” Her dismission feels weak and pathetic in the face of everything—of everything she and Darlene have been through together, and everything that just happened in the last ten minutes.

“You know you don’t have to act brave all the time. Especially around me.” Darlene reaches out—cups her tearstained cheeks in her palms and brushes the damp flesh with her thumbs. “That shit is painful—I know. You can’t just bottle it up. Trust me, it’ll eat at you.” Another snivel, followed by a breathy chuckle. “ _Jesus H_., when did you get so mature?” Her voice is strained—threatening to crack and drown in sorrow. “Well, I’ve had some time to do some growing up.”

She guides the older woman back to their bed and then disappears into the flat to grab a few things. Water and toilet paper, namely. After tending to her needs, Darlene settles into the comforter – sitting up with Dom’s head nestled in her lap. Nimble fingers with nails painted black comb through auburn locks. Every once in a while, she tenderly massages her temples—something that Elliot had done for her when she got migraines as a small child. The apartment is quiet—no more sobbing, no talking. Sufjan Stevens is playing on Dom’s phone— _Should Have Known Better_ —and helps to settle their restless spirits.

“Wanna talk about it?” Darlene asks quietly. The older woman shifts under her touch—rolls onto her side and stares wearily ahead at some blank spot on the wall. “About what?” Her voice is ghostly, empty—she’s only half there. The brunette pulls fiery tresses back over Dom’s shoulder. “You said you had a bad dream—what happened?” She doesn’t want to push too hard, doesn’t want to trigger another attack—but simply wants to know what’s going on in her mind. Dom is silent for a long moment and licks her lips thoughtfully. Contemplates whether she wants to delve into it or not.

“Irving.” Brown hair. Moustache. Called her miss in an utterly irritating way. Motioned for Dom to follow him. Darlene thought that was surely the last time she was going to see the agent alive. ( _If only she had known that Dom wasn’t killed that easily.)_ She had caught a glimpse of him in that airport bookstore back in Boston. So Dom had been dreaming about him. It wasn’t hard to guess why. She, Irving, and Santiago left. Only Dom returned, blood splattered across her face and clothing. Darlene didn’t know any other details—she never asked, never pressed—but it wasn’t hard to fill in what happened in the middle.

“And Santiago?” Darlene watches her expression—notices how her features twist painfully at the words. “No—” She croaks, her voice barely a whisper. Water wells up in her eyes again—silent tears. Dom draws a shaky breath—determined not to fall apart again. “I was so scared…” A pithy whimper. Darlene brushes the stray red hairs from her forehead and leans over—planting a soft kiss on her skin. She can feel her shake with a silent sob against her mouth. “I know, babe… it’s okay now. You’re okay now. I’m okay, your family is okay. It’s okay.” She coos, tenderly caressing Dom’s cheek with her thumb.

“I’ll be here until you fall back asleep, and I’ll be here if you have another bad dream.” Dom nuzzles into Darlene’s lap and presses her cheek against her bare legs. The hacker’s scent wafts into her system—familiar and pleasant—and sets her at ease. Her eyes are red and dry and weary—eyelids so heavy and threatening to close at any moment. She lets them fall, her eyes closing completely and settling her back into darkness. But she isn’t afraid—not right now, surrounded by Darlene’s warmth. Inside her gentle loving arms—everything is okay.

 _“When the blood pours down like rain_ _  
And I'm drowning in a river of pain  
When I go numb and I can't feel  
She pulls me back into what's real”_


End file.
